


Waves

by Sophisticated_Adult



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Cybertronian politics, M/M, Mer AU, Merformers, Multi, i guess the matrix is here so this can be an ot4 if you want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22019167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophisticated_Adult/pseuds/Sophisticated_Adult
Summary: Ratchetwasretired...right up until a meddling mer and an unwittingly-chosen new Prime have other things to say about that.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet/Rodimus
Comments: 17
Kudos: 114





	1. A Light in the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the mer AU from [Local Flame Boy Is Loved And Appreciated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14211045/chapters/32760312), which has now fully become it's own thing so will be updated here rather than clog up LFB chapters with the same fic. Chapters 1-3 are the same as they were previously, chapter 4 onwards is new content. I can't promise I know where I'm going with this, but there is at least one (1) future scene that I want to get to, so there is that.

Drift had been following the ship for some days now, drawn by the aura of someone on board that was so bright and intense that he was half-surprised there wasn't a trail of mer already following in its wake; it felt like his own, special secret. The ship had been stationary for a while now but that suited Drift just fine. The aura was so intoxicating it warmed his spark just being this close to it. 

There was commotion above the water, but he wasn't too concerned with the sounds that filtered down through the calm depths until that special aura flared and flared impossibly brighter, and there was a dull _thoom_ that reverberated through the water followed by a splash. It took a moment, after the ship started to move off and the aura began to fade, for Drift to realise what had happened. 

They were _throwing it away!_

A mixture of shock and outrage spurred him forwards until he came across a mech sinking rapidly into the gloom. He was beautiful, sleek curves and pointed features, and he was clutching with both hands a strange object that glowed with white light, but it was the gaping hole in his chest that drew Drift's attention. He didn't seem to be able to move, given the clear panic in his over-bright optics as he stared Drift down, and offered no resistance as Drift went to put a hand around his back to stop his fall, leaving them both suspended.

The white object flickered and went out, but Drift's attention was caught by the glow beyond it that came from the breached sparkchamber. He leaned forward, unable to resist that which had been pulling him these last few days even as the mech's life-force was fading. Coming to a decision, Drift drew him close, placed his other hand over the guttering spark, and began to sing. It was low and wordless, he didn't want to catch anyone's attention with a full-blown aria, but the frozen mech's spark responded beautifully. The soft light all but leapt to his fingers, and the rest soon threaded through easily enough until he could cup the precious thing with both hands. He let the now empty frame sink again, feeling a small pang of loss at the optics that had been a shockingly bright blue now gone dark, but he could come back for it and the odd trinket it still held later. What he needed to do now was preserve the sacred light as much as he could.


	2. Shoreline

“Ratcheeet~!” Drift warbled, pleased to see the medic already making his way down the beach, having spotted the obvious splashing signals Drift made on his approach to the shore.

“Yes, what is it-” he grouched (his version of a greeting, Drift knew), but his optics bloomed wide in shock, short-circuiting whatever else he wanted to say. “What is _that?!_ ”

“Oh, I think you know,” Drift purred, letting sparklight peek out from his fingers. Ratchet reeled back, shock and disgust writ on his features, as Drift held it out. “I don't – put it back - _Primus_ , is this what mers _do_ -” 

Now that went too far. “No!” Drift's tail angrily lashed in the water, sending spray everywhere. “ _They_ did.” He explained to a calmed-down Ratchet what had happened, leaving out the word 'aura' so he didn't try to scoff or argue when there were more important things at stake. “I need to keep this safe while I go back for the frame, then you can fix him.”

“That's a hell of an ask, kid.” Ratchet slumped down into the sands to kneel before him, already reaching out to the still-bright spark; Drift was oddly proud of how well it held together over the journey here, with only minimal encouragement needed to keep it stable. It was a strong one, that much was obvious. “I don't really know what you expect me to do, I don't exactly have specialised spark tech out here.”

Drift just smiled as gently, carefully, the spark exchanged hands with minimal fuss, save a brief flare that caused Ratchet to wince. “It's all right,” Drift cooed, half to Ratchet and half to the spark. “He'll hold.”

It was remarkable, Ratchet thought, how the smiling mer could say things without saying them, or say the same thing to different people and mean two different things. The spark was warm in his hands but not overly so, and it was in an astonishingly stable condition given its ordeal. If it had survived this long, maybe it didn't even need Ratchet's help that much. Ratchet frowned. Was he imagining -? He closed his optics, ignoring Drift's curious head-tilt, focusing on the precious bundle of life he held.

He wasn't imagining it. It was _familiar_.

“Drift.” His optics snapped open. “What did this mech look like?” 

Drift blinked at the sudden urgent, intense tone, but he readily replied: “The setting sun. Red. Yellow. Orange. Some mauve.” He sighed dreamily at the memory.

Ratchet shook his head. “He was doing well until the mauve,” he muttered, more to himself than the apparently love-struck fishy idiot. Ratchet held none of the superstitions surrounding mers; they were Cybertronians adapted for the water and nothing more, and he really, really didn't see what the fuss was about.

But this, he couldn't deny. Ratchet had worked with too many Primes to not recognise the _protect_ urge slowly curling through him, something beyond a medic's duty to his patients. No current Prime matched the description Drift had given him, but nothing in the universe could convince him otherwise about the spark he held.

“Be quick,” he said. Drift nodded in understanding, flashed a fang-y grin and slipped beneath the surface, leaving only ripples.

Now without an audience, Ratchet swore – more to make him feel a little better than anything else – rose to his feet, and hurried towards his ramshackle home on the otherwise deserted coast.


	3. Some kind of homecoming

Ratchet really hadn't been kidding about the lack of spark tech. It hadn't been something he'd ever thought he'd need – he was very thoroughly retired and living out in the middle of nowhere, why in the Pits would he ever need something like that?

He cursed his past self as he hurried forwards, crunching the metal granules that made up the 'sand' on the technically-a-beach he'd made his home. Ratchet grumbled, hyper-aware of the living spark he held as he manoeuvred to open his door without disturbing it too much. Once inside, he looked around at a complete loss. What did Drift expect him to _do?_ He couldn't just...hold it in his hands for however long it took the mer to get the mech's empty frame and then make the return journey lugging it with him.

In the end, he set it on his table and covered it with a large glass jar he spent five minutes digging in the back of a cupboard for, certain it existed and feeling a surge of triumph as he pulled it out. It was nearly a perfect fit. The spark certainly didn't seem to be bothered, either, and Ratchet suspected it didn't actually make much of a difference, but at least it made him feel better than leaving it totally exposed.

With nothing left to do except obsessively watch the bright, white light for any signs of change – and no real idea of what to do if that did happen – Ratchet decided he needed more information, and did something he'd done very little of since coming out to the storm-stricken beach he'd made his home.

He went online and checked the news.

To his surprise, there was nothing regarding a newly-minted, newly-missing Prime that matched the description Drift had given him. Instead, the dominating story was the theft of the Matrix from the High Temple of Iacon.

To his complete lack of surprise, Sentinel took the opportunity to make a lot of thundering, angry speeches to impress the sort of people who would be impressed by that sort of thing. Zeta, for his part, worked quietly in the background to crack down on 'suspected areas' until the culprits were revealed and the Matrix returned. Optimus called for calm, peace, and understanding. Ratchet shook his head. His old friend was outnumbered and outgunned by his fellow Primes and the general feeling of the populace, if the comments sections and conspiracy theories were anything to go by.

“The slag did you _do?_ ” he asked his new patient-slash-resident, raising an incredulous eyebrow ridge at the innocently pulsing spark. While there was no Matrix – yet – Ratchet had a feeling it had had a run in with this mech during its misadventure, and decided it liked what it saw. Perhaps that had messed up the plan of the thieves, and they'd panicked, tossing the newly chosen Prime overboard. The only question was whether he was one of them, or an innocent bystander who'd had the worst luck possible.

It took three days for Drift to return, in which Ratchet grew increasingly antsy, trying to decide if he should get in contact with Optimus or not, coming up with and discarding plans. There was too little to go on, right now. He needed more information than the angry responses to curfews in Tarn, Kaon, Nyon and others, or breathless interviews with the priests in the Temple who all insisted it wasn't _their_ fault. Ratchet ended up blocking the news sites, they gave him a headache and the messageboards weren't much better. As much as Ratchet grew tenser at each passing day, the spark of the one who'd fallen into the centre of this mess showed no change, sitting patiently on Ratchet's table, awaiting the return of his frame. 

And return it did, finally, Ratchet's helm snapping up at the sound of the splashing outside and Drift's warbling greeting. With one last glance at the spark he hurried outside to be greeted by the sight of Drift apparently having decided he wasn't going to wait this time and had transformed into his rarely used bipedal alt mode, dragging a greyed-out frame behind him from the surf. It looked much smaller than Ratchet had been expecting, about the same size as Drift, but as Ratchet hurried forward his attention was caught by something else entirely.

“Rat-chet~” Drift hummed, his expression lacking its usual mouthful-of-fangs aesthetic and instead looking genuinely elated as Ratchet came to a dead stop. “Look what I found!”

“Drift.” Ratchet wasn't even surprised, but he was staring all the same. “That's the slagging _Matrix_.” 

“Oh, this?” Drift reached out to poke at the shining object still clutched in a deathgrip by the empty frame of it's newest Prime. It made a _ting!_ sound against his claws. “Come on, that's not what's important here, Ratchet.”

“Right.” He shook himself, coming back to his senses, and came to the mer's side to help bring in the unfortunate mech's frame. He hooked an arm under one shoulder, going under an extensive spoiler to do so, and glanced down.

He wished he hadn't. The mech was young, probably not too far into adulthood, and his face was twisted in a mixture of surprise and agony. 

Oh, and there was a giant hole ripped in the side of his chest. 

No wonder Drift had gotten the spark out without damaging it. There would have been nothing but ocean between him and it. 

Ratchet grit his teeth and pulled. He'd seen Primes come back from worse. 


	4. Rise,

The Matrix was nonsense and had always been nonsense, but in this scenario Ratchet was willing to cut it some slack.

He and Drift had barely gotten the empty frame through the door and the relic was already glowing brighter and brighter, although Drift's gaze went straight to the spark still in perfect condition on Ratchet's table. It, too, had brightened, and was starting to pulse either in reaction to the Matrix or its own frame, it was hard to tell.

“Wait-” Ratchet didn't get a chance to stop the mer from nimbly springing to the table and lifting the glass jar to carefully take the spark up in his hands, cupping it carefully between long fingers. 

“It's all right-” Drift started, but his optics widened as the spark took on a life of its own, escaping his hold easily to glide over towards the frame, the Matrix now so bright the little shack was probably like a lighthouse beacon to any mechs nearby. 

It was over quickly, one final, burning burst of light making both of them cry out and cover their optics, before the light's sudden absence plunged them into the grey gloom Ratchet was more used to in the deserted shoreline.

The frame jerked in his hands as Ratchet opened his optics, blinking rapidly to clear away spots as the small mech cried, “-get _awa_ \- huh?”

Blue, intensely blue optics peered up at him. “Who're _you_?” The mech said bluntly, openly staring, optics remarkably bright for one who'd been a rusted, grey frame and a free-floating spark twenty seconds ago. “Where is this?” He looked around, saw Drift, and yelped, flailing and twisting in Ratchet's grasp to the point until he dropped to the floor and rolled, revealing the light of his spark through the hole in his chest.

“You!” He said, pointing at Drift, who'd taken a step forward but stopped, placing his hands in a gesture that tried to say 'easy, it's okay,' but in Ratchet's opinion the effect was diminished by how intently the mer was staring. “You're that weird guy!”

“You remember me!” Drift beamed, clapping his hands together in glee. The poor mech's optics darted from the overly-pleased mer to a now very out of his depth Ratchet, who realised that _someone_ was going to have to take charge of the situation, because the mech was only a few seconds of confusion away from bolting, and that was the last thing they needed.

“Okay!” Ratchet called, getting both their attention, “let's all calm down, all right? You're safe here, we're friends, and you _really_ need to get that looked at.” He indicated, and the little mech looked down at himself. 

“Oh.” One golden hand raised up to hover uncertainly at the hole in his side. Now it wasn't glowing so bright, the handle of the Matrix could be seen as well, having combined with his spark in that burst of light from before. “Um. This is, uh, I – slag.” He looked at Ratchet beseechingly. “I didn't mean to?”

Ratchet let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “It's all right, kid, it's okay. I'm Ratchet. This is Drift, he's an idiot-” the mer snorted, flapping a hand at him - “but he means well. What's your name?”

The Prime – red and yellow, like Drift had said, the setting sun – stood up awkwardly, wobbling a little before he caught himself. 

“Hot Rod.” He looked down at himself, one hand experimentally poking at the Matrix before yanking it away at the last moment. “I, I really didn't want to – slag, Getaway's gonna kill me.”

“Getaway?” Drift said, alert, inching slowly towards Hot Rod. Ratchet shook his helm. 

“Yeah, he's my, um, well I guess was, I – he's the one that wanted this,” Hot Rod said miserably. Ratchet's own spark twisted in sympathy at his expression. “But it wouldn't do anything with him, and he was getting mad, but my idea was to – take it around, you know, to places that people wouldn't get to see it normally. He...didn't like that.” Hot Rod held his arms around himself, still looking down. Drift reached him and slowly, slowly pulled him into a gentle hug that the smaller mech didn't resist, burying his head against the mer's chest.

“What am I gonna _do_?” he wailed; Ratchet could see his frame shaking, the big, sweeping spoiler practically vibrating even as Drift cooed and gently stroked along it with one of his hands.

“We're gonna figure that out,” Ratchet promised, for all that he'd had three days to consider this exact problem and what he'd just been told had only made things worse. 

It might be time, he reflected, to call in the big guns. But not right now; the kid evidently needed some time to get his head back on straight, and he needed to agree to it, but Ratchet checked – despite that he'd done so already several times during his three-day wait - that he still had Optimus' comm number.

Now he just had to work out what the frag he was going to _say_.


	5. Late at Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw you might be making Drift's weird legs a plot point, or at least a plot thing that exists, idk

It was still dark when Hot Rod woke up, blinking rapidly. He must've cried himself out last night, he figured, because now he'd actually slept, he felt way better than before.

Which was amazing, considering there was no way around the part where there was a _hole_ in his chest.

The medic, who'd introduced himself as Ratchet, hadn't been able to do much after a quick examination aside from saying “well, you're not dying, at least,” before gently handing over a cube of energon that had tasted disgusting, and when it hadn't all come right back out of him like a bad comedy routine Ratchet just shrugged, suggested they covered it up and all get some shut-eye and they would figure it out in the morning.

Which was how he came to be on a grody couch, half on his side, the other half bathing the rest of the shack in an odd blue glow as the tarp covering the hole wasn't exactly enough to suppress the combined light of his spark and, oh yeah, the slagging _Matrix_.

It should hurt. He brought his hand carefully up to the blue glow, hovering over it uncertainly. It _should_ hurt; he remembered it hurting, that initial impact of pain and shock searing through him, paralyzing him in place. The worst part of the memory was Getaway's expression, the coldness in his eyes. Hot Rod didn't remember if he'd fallen or been pushed, and was kind of sure he didn't really want to know, in the end. At least Getaway was too far away for it to be him, if it was the latter.

And then after the fire was an explosion of cold as he'd hit the water. And after that...

Hot Rod angled himself to get a better look at the odd white mech sharing the couch with him and currently acting as a pillow, his longer body a strange but...good fit as Roddy basically nestled on top of him, legs intertwined. Despite how kinda wonky the other mech's legs were, it still felt good, like the two of them belonged here. Roddy wasn't the kind of guy to judge on that sorta thing, anyway. He'd been part of enough piles of mechs huddling together for warmth and comfort in abandoned factories and ancient windblown buildings that this didn't even come close to topping the Total Stranger With The Weirdest Frame I've Slept On list. _That_ particular crown still went to the guy Roddy would swear to his dying day _had_ to be part-helicopter _somewhere_ otherwise it just didn't make sense.

But this, this was nice. A mech with Roddy's experience could _appreciate_ lying on top of a stranger on a rotting couch in a dilapidated shack where another stranger was somewhere else trying to get some sleep of his own. A mech with Roddy's experience could sit back and admire how this one mech could somehow reproduce the same effect of an entire nest of Nyonians huddling together in a worn-out warehouse. He'd never felt safer in his life.

Roddy's memory of his rescue was a little glitchy, no fault of his own if you asked him, but he did at least remember being held by Drift in the water, and then - 

And then - 

Well, he wasn't really sure. Next thing he knew, he woke up in the shack confused and scared out of his mind, about five seconds from setting the whole place alight before Ratchet had snapped him out of it, and then Drift just _held_ him like he knew exactly what Roddy needed.

They'd helped. Both of them, Ratchet gruff but gentle, Drift watchful as a factory overseer but in a way that – yeah, once you got over the intensity of it, he did get the impression that this guy was serious, in the good way. The way you knew someone totally had your back no matter what.

In Nyon, that was the highest praise you could give a mech.

Hot Rod leaned his head against Drift's chest, the white paint turned silver-blue by the eerie light that filled the cabin.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does Drift have mystical powers of comfort or is Roddy just gay? only you can decide for yourself


	6. Castle in the Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if Getaway is your ultra-fave he's getting a teeny bit thrown under the bus in this fic.  
> Also my spellchecker didn't think heist was a word for some reason???

Drift was the first to wake that morning, the cold light of dawn doing little to dispel the sparklight still glowing from Hot Rod's chest. The little speedster was where Drift had left him last night, fast asleep on top of him, mouth open slightly. It was certainly an adorable sight to wake up to, and Drift smiled, reaching one arm up - 

It jerked away, and he winced. Only now in the calm stillness did he finally register just how _sore_ he was. A three day journey, half of that carrying a frame with him, followed by a half-day on his legs, it was no wonder he felt like a Titan had stepped on him. He grimaced and moved his fingers experimentally, the joints definitely not the best they'd ever been. Ratchet was going to be smug about this, he could already tell. He rotated his aching ankles, slightly desperate to transform back into his more comfortable mer form, but at the same time unwilling to wake the bot on top of him. 

Drift couldn't tell how long it was, but in the end Ratchet saved him by bustling in with two cubes of what had to be that awful med-grade he pushed on you if he thought there was even the slightest thing wrong, although the medic stopped dead at the sight of the two of them.

“Oh – I'll just -” Ratchet's eyes were wide and bright, and Drift couldn't even enjoy the sight because he was suddenly, ravenously hungry.

“No,” Drift said, trying to push himself up without dislodging the little flame, wincing as his shoulders disagreed very heavily with that action, and then Hot Rod woke up anyway.

“Hey guys.” He yawned. As Ratchet came closer, Drift took the opportunity to snatch one of the cubes, ignoring the squawk of outrage as he downed it in one gulp.

“That wasn't _for_ you!” Ratchet snapped, holding the second cube over his head, but the taste had already hit Drift's intake and _no_ thank you, once was enough. “Manners!” Drift just smirked at him, knowing it was the answer that would annoy Ratchet the most. True to form, his reward for his behaviour was a _thorough_ glare before Ratchet put him on ignore mode and turned to Hot Rod, who was in mid-process of trying to wiggle off the couch without getting too much in Drift's way, which the mer thought was sweet of him given how there was no way he could know how on fire his couch partner's body currently felt. Even the short hop to the ground made Drift suck in air through his teeth, which distracted Ratchet mid-lecture on how Hot Rod was to take his energon.

“What was that?” Ratchet demanded, turning to him. Drift blinked and looked from one to the other, Hot Rod watching wide-eyed with the forgotten cube halfway to his lips.

“Ah. Ratchet, do you still have your – metal tub?”

“What, that thing? Of course, I -”

Without waiting for another word, Drift took off in a calculated burst of energy to get him across the room and through one of the side doors into what passed for Ratchet's wash-racks, closing the door and locking it in one movement. The sound of running water followed, before the shack echoed with what was unmistakably a transformation sound, but at the same time it was entirely unlike any Hot Rod had ever heard.

“Wow,” he said, yet to take his first sip of energon, as Ratchet shook his head.

“Every time - can't even ask properly -” the medic muttered, before turning to face Hot Rod. “Ah, don't worry about it, kid, sometimes I think he only loves me for my hot water.”

“Oh.” Roddy finally took a swig of energon, wincing a little as the fact that it wasn't the worst he'd ever had didn't mean it tasted _good._ Drift had the right idea, getting it all over in one go, but Ratchet was right there and was pretty clear on _small sips_ and _don't drink too fast_ and this was one shelter he wasn't gonna get himself kicked out of over some tiny bullshit detail, thank you.

Whoa, sidetracked. He turned to try and focus on what Ratchet was saying.

“-need to talk. I can – I _think_ I can, anyway – help out with a contact of mine. But I need the full details of what happened first, so we know exactly what we're dealing with if we decide to go to Iacon and get this mess sorted as best we can.”

“Iacon?” Hot Rod made a face. “Do we gotta?” He wasn't exactly a fan of the place, the only other time he'd been there aside from the Matrix heist he'd picked the wrong place for some shoplifting and gotten arrested. Not a fond memory. But the way Ratchet was looking at him...

“I guess,” he muttered, spoiler slumping dramatically with his shoulders. “But who's this guy you're talking about, first? Think it's fair if _I_ know what's what too, y'know?”

“An old friend of mine, he'll want to help, don't worry.” Ratchet's expression quirked in a half-smirk, half-smile. “In fact, if you _didn't_ want his help you'd probably have to fight him of with a stick, I have a feeling he'd want to step in regardless.”

“So who?” Hot Rod said, a little testy, feeling that Ratchet was stalling for some reason. The sound of running water in the background stopped, followed by a soft trill that made both of them pause. Ratchet shook his head. What was he doing, trying to play games with the poor kid?

“Optimus Prime,” he said bluntly, dropping the coy oh-you-might-have-heard-of-him act he'd been planning, and decided to blame Drift for rubbing off on him, just a little.

But it was a treat, the way those big, round optics brightened and got even bigger, and “Optimus _Prime?_ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _Optimus_ Pr – no way, he's – oh slag, I hadn't thought of that, he's gonna kill me-”

“No-one's gonna kill you, kid,” Ratchet promised. “Definitely not if Optimus has anything to say about it.”

“O-okay.” Hot Rod hugged himself, still feeling a prickle of fear in chest despite the foreign warmth of the Matrix pulsing through him. “So I know these guys, right, Dealer and Swindle, and they introduced me to this other guy called Getaway, who was recruiting...”

He felt stupid as he continued the story, in retrospect, how easily he'd followed – however charming Getaway was, if he'd been a random guy on the streets Hot Rod was sure he'd have laughed and been all, 'good luck with the Enforcers, buddy.' But Dealer and Swindle were friends, yeah they got up to bad stuff but he knew they all could count on each other. Through that lens, Getaway was - 

He made it sound so easy. And so _true_ , how they were hiding the Matrix, how they were scared it would pick someone wrong, some ordinary bot, was it really a coincidence they'd not done another showing since it'd picked a guy who used to be a dockworker and not one of the ones hand-picked by some bastards in the senate?

Well, that was going to _change_. That could be _us_.

And...

Well, it did turn out to be _us_.

But _us_ turned out to not be what Getaway was after.

“Primus,” Ratchet said. Hot Rod looked down, took another swig to distract himself, to have something to do with his hands. 

“M'sorry,” he said quietly. There was faint splashing in the background as Ratchet shook his head. 

“It's – well. It's something we can work with. Are you okay for me to get in touch with him today, or do you need more time?”

“I – no, yeah,” Hot Rod squared his shoulders. He'd done enough feeling sorry for himself. “Can you-”

“Are we done?” Drift asked brightly, emerging from the far room and feeling much better, thank you very much, although the water ran cold far too quickly for his liking.

“We're just getting _started,_ ” Roddy said, flashing him a grin. Ratchet rolled his optics up to the ceiling, _save me from overenthusiastic Primes because there's about to be more than one_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact this chapter was originally going to stop at the Optimus reveal/reaction but I was like 'nah I can keep going' please be proud of me thank you
> 
> Tumblr: @ [of-nyon](https://of-nyon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
